galnetfandomcom-20200216-history
Eric Olafson, Neoviking 001c
Prelude Part 3: Isegrim marries 4991 OTT Not in the last five hundred years did the Olafson Burg look as spectacular as it did today. Gone were the rag-like remnants of cloth; replaced by brand new flags in vibrant red. But not only Olafson red waved in the stiff breeze of Longnight winds, there were black flags with the silver falcon of the Ragnarssons. The obvious cracks and patches of crumbling concrete had been filled with expensive Duro-Crete or were simply hidden behind a decorative banner. A brand new Hydrogen generator hummed happily in the basement right next to the burned out 1000 year old scrap heap of the old one and sent electricity to a thousand lamps or more. Volund caressed the fine dark red leather he was wearing and found his long fur-trimmed cape quite regal. The heavy golden clan chief necklace was around his neck and his right hand was on the hilt of Hevnen, the great broadsword of the Olafson clan. He once again felt like a clan chief should, proud, mighty in stature and looks. He stood by the window of his chambers. This was the second year of this season’s Longnight. Temperatures already dropped to -15 °C during the dim day and reached -20 °C at night. In another year, the ocean surface around Olafson Rock would be thick enough for a man to walk or drive across to the other burgs in the vicinity. The temperatures were unimportant to the Lowmen, Bondi and Freemen laboring outside to make the Burg fit to hold a wedding. It was tradition to hold the wedding at the groom’s home, otherwise they could have already moved to the much bigger and well kept Ragnarsson Burg. Luckily this Burg was not small and there was ample space for all the guests. Erik Gustav had given him a more than generous advance on the bride’s dowry. He had never seen such a sum on the readout of his Union Bank Account and the two coffers filled with Iridium coins standing behind him were to pay the local merchants and the workers. After all only clan families and members of the free families in town were Union citizens and had bank accounts. The rest of Nilfeheim still relied on good old fashioned coin based currency. His son Isegrim stood in the middle of the court yard, dressed quite similar as his father, but with the addition of a Nubhir wolf mask. These masks were tremendously popular among the Neo Viking warriors, as they gave them a fierce and frightful appearance and the leather and pelt kept their faces warm. In the bright light of the floodlights, he was an eerie sight as his breath steamed between the permanently growling fangs of the Nubhir mask and made it almost look alive. There were much cheaper alternatives and until recently the Olafsons were forced to tie a piece of Fangsnapper fur before their faces. The Ragnarsson clan had the largest Nubhir wolfs and the biggest Nubhir farm. Ragnarsson leather and fur was far superior to Olafson leather and more expensive. Volund watched his son order the workers around, making sure everything was perfect before the actual wedding would take place. Volund turned, took a pitcher set for him on a small ante table by the window and filled his empty tankard with more of the warmed ale. His eyes fell on a two dee picture image, a traveling Image Taker and Knife Sharpener had made of his wife Grimhild. Many years ago. He raised his drink and said, “I wish you could be around to see all this. Thanks to the upcoming wedding of our son to the oldest daughter of the Ragnarsson clan I could now afford all the beautiful things a chief’s wife deserves. Most of all I now could afford a flier and take you to the Union Clinic instead of seeing you die in child labor.” He drank and as always imagined seeing that special glitter in her eyes. “Our stubborn first born has seen the fair child of the Ragnarssons and he has forgotten all about everything else. I just wish our beloved Hogun would return. We Olafsons are fast to anger and fast to break all things around us, including the bonds that make a family what it should be.” He was glad that he was all alone in his chambers as tears dropped into his massive beard. “I have never treated you the way you deserved to be treated, and now that you are gone, I miss you and too late I realize how blessed I was. I pray to Odin to give Isegrim the wisdom to not make the mistakes I have made.” With a sigh he took his own wolf mask and decided to visit the mount of rocks under which he had buried her and the stillborn baby girl that should have been his daughter. HOGUN Several light hours away from Nilfeheim and beyond the orbit of the systems outermost planet, a small ice ball called Hel with nothing on it but an automated SII – GalNet Repeater, a rugged, boxy-looking space ship dropped out of quasi space. Not all that many space ships made it to Solken System. Other than the occasional freighter and the monthly space bus, there was almost no traffic. The dull brown ship of finest Karthanian engineering was certainly not a space bus. Even though this Karthanian built Super Cruiser had freight bays, it wasn’t a freighter either. The openly displayed weapon turrets pointing in every direction made it clear this was a ship of war. While the ship and the openly displayed weapons were perfectly legal, some of the hidden ones were not. The Ship Master of this hulking ship was a massive Pertharian. The rest of the crew were, with few exceptions, members of the physically strong and very strong species of the Union. There was a Maggi Sauron, two Oromarls, three Purple Throat Shiss, Four Triple Strongs and a former Plato Slave. They had all gathered on the bridge of the ship they called the Great Dame. In their midst stood a human, he was neither the smallest nor the weakest aboard. The Ship Master said to the big human, “We are here, this is Solken System.” To the Purple Throat Shiss at the Comm Panel the Pertharian said, “Go and hail the spaceport and call for landing instructions and make sure you transmit our transponder codes. I don’t want them to call any Navy asset to check us out.” The Shiss did what he was commanded to do and hissed to the Sauron sitting next to him, “That is something we should avoid indeed.” The Pertharian again addressed the human, “Hogun; I sure hate to see you go; you have been a true brother in arms. Are you sure you want to leave us? I gladly increase your share, but I have offered that before.” The big man had a strange expression on his face as he looked at the planet they approached. “Rathuur, no man could ask for better friends as I have found in the ranks of Rathuur’s Brigands, but I am going to marry the girl that is waiting for me for so long. And then I want to settle down, take over that little inn she inherited and have some kids. No amount of credits could change my mind.” The Pertharian put one of his arms on the man’s shoulder. “I have never met a man more honorable, more dependable or being able to best me in a contest of arm wrestling.” The ship belonging to this famous, barely legal mercenary outfit dipped through the planet’s atmosphere after it received landing permission. It took Hogun almost an hour to shake all the hands, claws and similar appendages as he made his way to the landing ramp, but finally he had said his last good byes, shouldered a big Duroplast box and made his way to the passenger terminal while the Grand Dame reversed her Arti Grav and climbed back into space. Hogun could not blame them for their haste. While Rathuur’s Brigands were a legal registered mercenary outfit, with a solid reputation and no federal rap sheet, some of the weapons both the ship and the mercs used were everything but legal. While the outfit would never do anything that could harm the Union or go against Union interests, (Having a Pertharian outfit leader almost guaranteed that) they weren’t as law abiding as perhaps they should have been. Most of the contracts they fulfilled, while he was a Rathuur Brigand were targets outside Union Space and laws had little meaning there, some of their jobs could be called acts of piracy. Hogun turned and raised his head to see the ship disappear into the lead gray sky. Then his gaze scanned across the mountains of snow that had been piled to the sides of the spaceport landing field. On the other end stood a Meteor freighter loading densely packed blocks of ice and snow. The freighter had the logo of the Silver Hawk Emporium on its side. So rumors were true, the Ragnarsson clan was associated somehow with Silver Hawks Inc. The company logo and the heraldic hawk of the Ragnarssons were almost identical. Silver Hawks Inc. was not the biggest Company out there; but even he who had spent most of his off-planet time in the fringe regions or beyond Union Space had heard of the Silver Hawk Emporium stores that seemed to spring up at every spaceports. He grinned and shook his head. His father Volund would never get the idea to ship worthless snow by the shipload off planet, not knowing that a shipload of clean water ice would be a sell able commodity on any desert planet. Desert planets far outnumbered water planets after all and ninety percent of all Union citizens needed water in some form or another. The spaceport seemed bigger than it had almost twenty years ago when he had left Nilfeheim, hiding as a stowaway in a much smaller freighter than the bulky Meteor. It was freezing cold, and the wind had a nipping bite to it, but here gravity felt just right and the air tasted wonderful. He reached the terminal and the Customs Inspector must have been a local Freeman. He had all the hallmarks of a Neo Viking, but was clean shaven. The man did not display any clan insignia or colors of any particular clan. The Customs Inspector wore a laughable Thompson E-Blaster in a similar unpractical covered holster, but Hogun was sure the man probably had never any reason to pull his sidearm. The man was a Neo Viking and as such not a small person, but he had to tilt his head back to look into Hogun’s face and he said, “We usually never get any private ship traffic, so don’t mind me asking what kind of business do you have here?” “What business I have on my home planet is none of yours, Freeman. I am a lawful Union Citizen and that is all you need to know. Scan my CITI and be done.” The customs officer did and said, “We don’t have any police on Nilfeheim so we like to check who comes, especially in a heavily armed ship and a box full of weapons, but your CITI checks out and the weapon scan identifies only registered and legal weapons. You do know the local laws about these right?” “I am an Olafson. I was born here.” “Oh an Olafson! Welcome home then. I bet you came for the wedding!” “What wedding?” “Everyone talks about it of course. Isegrim Olafson is marrying Ilva Ragnarsson.” Hogun once again shouldered the box and walked past the man. His enormous right hand clenched into a stone-hard fist ever since the man mentioned his brother’s name. The main reason he had left in the first place. Then as he passed into the lobby, he saw her standing there with her hands demurely folded before a white apron and wearing a traditional blue dress to long flaxen braids, Freydis Bredeberg. His chin dropped. He had sent her a letter via Union Post over three months ago, that he would return and gave her an approximate day of arrival, all that came to his mind was, “How did you know I was coming today?” She smiled the most charming smile and looked at the big man with deep love burning in her eyes. “I came here to wait for you every day, since I got your letter.” He dropped his box and scooped her into his arms. WEDDING As it was ancient tradition the first day of the wedding festivities began on a Friday to honor the goddess Freya and make her bless the newlyweds. And what a day it was; the First Keeper of Hasvik himself officiated the ceremony in the great hall of the Olafson Burg, with real oak tree branches and mistletoe shipped from Earth itself decorating the hall. All the Elders were present and so were many clan chiefs, friend and foe alike. There was hushed whisper as the Eldest, the Hermit of Nilfeheim appeared and blessed the couple. He threw the runes and as he foretold a son to be born, both Volund and Erik Gustav almost burst with pride. Volund was not even ashamed of the tears he cried as he embraced Hogun, his long lost second born, who also appeared before the gates and requested admission. Hogun, now a grown man, was a head taller than the tallest Norse and as massive as only a Olafson would grow, with arms bigger than some of the strongest men’s upper thighs. During the festivities he bested them all in challenges of strength and arm wrestling. Hogun put great shame upon the Elhir sons Leif and Arnfinn as he won a challenge of strength against both of them at the same time. Isegrim threw the axes straight and true and cut Ilva’s braids. Food and drink was consumed in enormous quantities, the rafters and halls vibrated of the merry laughter and the old songs of the gods and war. There was not a dry eye and not a viking heart untouched as Ilva sung the Song of Sif to honor her new husband and no one believed there was a more beautiful woman on all Nilfeheim. It was near midnight of the third day of festivities, most of the guests were more than drunk and the event was long past its climax. Isegrim had danced the Dance of Ax and Sword with more skill than even Volund hoped for. Ilva skillfully tended to his cuts and bruises and the Elders praised the wedding as a testament to the value and importance of the old traditions. Egill found this a perfect time for him to slip out the door. He liked the food and the drink, but he was a hermit for too long to feel really comfortable around crowds. Many of the guests were already sleeping, or held on to tankards with glassy eyes. Some were still singing, but not as clear and vigorous as they did hours ago. One of the servants helped him into his ragged looking Fangsnapper coat. However as he went through the door into the bitter cold of Longnight, a man approached him. “It is a long time we have seen each other, Old Egill.” “You should talk, Elkhart. Compared to you I am still as young as a freshly hatched Silver-flicker.” The man with the stringy white beard was Elkhart the First Keeper. Only a handful of beings knew that this old man had been born on Earth and was the Ship Master of the Stockholm Ark. Egill did not know how the man managed to stay alive for almost 3000 years now, but then he himself was now a little over 400 years old and beings of great age were rare but not uncommon in the galaxy spanning Union beyond the clouds of Nilfeheim. “I am surprised to see you away from your secretive nest underneath Mount Muspelheim.” “And I am surprised to see you. What was it that made you abandon your tall rock? You have never been known to attend festivities.” Egill drew the seams of his cloak closer together. “The Olafson’s and the Ragnarsson clan coming together is a momentous event, these are old clans with much history and clout.” Then he cursed. “I am too old to freeze my face off and stand around in the cold. You know where I live and you can come by and tell me how things are underneath your mountain and why you have officiated instead of the current First Keeper. Risking exposure of your little secret just to officiate in a wedding is not something I expected.” Elkhart appeared immune to the cold, dressed in only a thin cloak, exposing his bare legs. “Yes I think it is time I visit you. Since you have not been at Hasvik for ages. Expect me then in the next weeks to come.” Egill snapped in his usual grumpy and coarse way. “Don’t think I will clean just because you decide to visit.” But he added in a softer tone. “There is more to this wedding, is there?” The Ancient Keeper brushed snow out of his beard and raised an eyebrow, “The White One has send you here has he not? He too sensed the significance and that is why you came.” “You should not be able to read my mind, but yes Tyr has asked me to witness the Union between Isegrim Olafson and Ilva Ragnarsson. I do not know why. He tends to be even more cryptic than you.” “I can’t read minds as you can Old Grump. I do not have the benefit of a godlike friend who can bestow such talents, but I am around for a long time and I can see patterns that are invisible to others.” “And you are an Old Liar. I know you are far more than just an old man who forgot to die.” “Perhaps, perhaps not; let us continue this when we meet at your burg. I am already afraid it is worse a pigsty than it was eighty years ago, when I seen it last, but it will be warmer.” “You can stay away if you don’t like it.” Egill grunted and stomped slowly down to the main gate. Then he turned and said. “See you then Old Keeper, and by Odin’s name get a thicker coat. I am getting cold just looking at you.” The Old Keeper waved and said. “Have a safe journey back to your burg.” Egill turned around one more time and saw the figure of the Old Keeper slowly dissipating just like a ghost; becoming insubstantial and then from one eye blink to the other the old keeper was gone. Egill grunted. “Old man my ass, you are about as human as Tyr.” Prelude 4 » Category:Stories